


A Grave Situation

by J_Q



Series: TIMELESS [5]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Dark Comedy, Dark but nothing you wouldn't see on Shameless, In fact you did see lots of this on Shameless, M/M, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 18:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13346970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Q/pseuds/J_Q
Summary: J_Q asked for reader prompts: gimme a situation that wouldn’t ordinarily be cute and I’ll put M&I into that situation and it will automatically become cute.RedStarFicion replied: remember that time the Milkoviches dug a grave in the school teacher’s front yard? Put M&I in a scene like that, make it untamed, brutal and yet also cute.Nicrenkel added: throw in the rohypnol that the Milkoviches used up at the quinceañera while you’re at it.Set in the Timeless AU where Mickey and Ian got together in season 7 instead of season 1…and lived happily ever after with a grave or two thrown in.Reader warning: after reading all that ^ you have probably figured out this will be a dark comedy. I assume no responsibility for anything written in this fic.More prompts welcome!





	A Grave Situation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedStarFiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/gifts), [Nicrenkel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nicrenkel/gifts).



> It's not necessary to read the whole Timeless series first, but a few of the references are from that series.

Mickey pulled up in front of Macy’s thinking that Ian had better be waiting out front like he said he would because A - he hated fucking driving around the block, and B - he had something he needed to do but Ian needed a ride home first.

Driving past the long line of glass doors, he spotted his husband and the 50 bags of shit he was lugging. Slowing, he pressed the button for the passenger’s side window, which lowered completely just as he pulled up in front of Ian. “Get in!” he barked in way of hello.

Of course, Ian just gave him a withering look. “Pop the trunk, I wanna put all this stuff in it.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“No?”

A little grin was forming on Ian’s lips and Mickey wanted to beat his head against the steering wheel. “Can you just put it in the back seat?” he asked as nicely as he could. “Please.”

“Please?”

“Don’t fucking start with me, man.”

Ian did laugh at this. Then pulled the back door open and shoved his bags inside. “It’s way easier to get this stuff in and out of the trunk,” he grunted when his head appeared in the back seat. “Why are you being a dick about opening the trunk?”

Mickey tried the ignoring tactic, which typically wasn’t effective with Ian, but it was the place he liked to start cause it was the easiest.

Ian slammed the back door and yanked open the passenger’s side door but instead of getting in, he rested his forearm along the top of the door and leaned over so he could see Mickey from the curb. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, studying his husband closely. Something was up.

After a pause, though, he slid into his seat. “Grump.”

Once his seat belt was secured, Ian changed the radio station and adjusted the heat, then turned to Mickey who remained silent during the little show. Now that they were even, Ian reached over and gave him a big smooch on the cheek. “Thanks for picking me up.”

Mickey nodded and his hand found Ian’s thigh as he pulled into traffic.

“So I found you a new pair of micro houndtooth pants that are going to look great on the ass that just don’t quit. Oh, and wait until you see the shoes I got for you!” Ian smiled and started to reach in the backseat for the shoes.

“I’m working hard to keep a lid on my excitement.”

Ian paused and the smile fell from his face. “Where are your glasses?”

“I couldn’t find them.”

“Yeah, well, you aren’t supposed to be driving without them especially at night.”

“It’s fine.” Mickey patted Ian’s thigh to calm him down.

“That’s right. It’s fine for people who can’t see to drive. No argument there.”

“I’m starting to wish you’d a taken the train.”

“I love you too.” Ian opened his phone and started swiping and typing.

“What are you doing? You make me nervous when you get that look.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re taking care of business.”

“I am. I’m booking you an eye appointment.”

“Don’t you gotta talk to someone?”

“Nobody talks on the phone anymore. This isn’t, like 2017, there’s an app.”

When they turned onto their street, Mickey tried really hard to casually say, “I’m just gonna drop you at home then I got a thing. Be home in a couple hours.”

Ian’s smile filled the car. “A thing?”

“Yes, a thing.”

“Why kind of thing? You don’t have _things_ without me.” He added finger quotes knowing how much they annoyed Mickey.

“This thing is without you.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Plus you aren’t driving anywhere without your glasses. Whatever this mystery thing is, I’ll drive you.”

“Ian.”

“Mickey.”

“You need to just drop it, okay?”

“Baby, how long you known me?”

“If I tell you what I’m doing, you’re gonna get all North Side on my ass.”

Ian’s smile was completely gone now.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I’m as South Side as you, I’ll have you know.”

“You’ll have me know?” Mickey mocked his words, his tone and the tilt of his head.

“I’m imagining strangling you right now.”

“Ha! I wouldn’t want you to ruin your manicure.”

“Fuck you!”

“Or get your houndstooth _slacks_ dirty.”

“You’re the one who wears houndstooth, not me.”

They were now parked in front of their house.

“You go around. I don’t trust you to not drive away.” Ian slid a leg over the center console and pushed Mickey toward the door. “Out.”

Mickey put on his usual sighing, blustering, exasperated show but got out and headed around to the passenger’s side, but before he could get in he heard the trunk pop and the engine shut off. “Aw. Fuck.”

Ian got out, waggling the keys over his head. “Does this have something to do with you not opening the trunk?” he asked. Chewing on the side of his inner cheek, Mickey watched Ian approach the back of the Pontiac and lift the lid.

“What. The. Fuck?” Ian squeaked.

“That’s the thing I was talking about.”

“That is not a thing, Mickey. That’s a who.”

Mickey came to stand beside Ian, and they stared down into the dark interior of the trunk at the old blankets, empty ammo boxes, and the cleats that Yev had tore apart the house looking for. But most notable was the preppy asshole staring at them with huge, scared eyes. He wasn’t able to express fully how he was feeling about having his ankles zip tied or his hands bound behind his back because his mouth was covered in a long piece of silver duct tape.

Dismissing the petrified man, Ian turned back to Mickey, giving him a long look. “What’d he do?”

“Well, you know how me and Franny go for coffee sometimes?”

Ian’s face morphed into a soft smile and loving eyes. While his fingers climbed their way up Mickey’s chest, he replied, “Yeah. It’s so adorable how much she worships you.”

“Anyway. She texted me to meet this morning after you left for your shopping marathon. She was, like, all—,” he fluttered his fingers around his face. “Weeping or some shit.”

“Weeping?”

“Or like weepy.”

“Which one?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Weeping is like crying with snot kind of thing, I think. And weepy is like sorta crying but not.”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Okay.”

“Cause of this piece of shit.”

They turned to look at the guy in the trunk again, and he shrank back. His once fashionable blond hair now plastered to his forehead with sweat.

“What did he do?”

“He tried to rape her.”

“He WHAT?” Ian glared down at the guy who shook his head vigorously, his ear rubbing against the dirty trunk carpet.

Mickey lowered himself to a squat until he was eye level with the lip of the trunk. “Did you fucking try to rape her? You better not fucking lie to me.” His voice was low and harsh.

The guy gave Mickey the tiniest nod then closed his eyes. Ian slammed the trunk lid. Hard.

“Holy shit, Mick. Were you going to tell me?”

“Yeah, but after,” he explained.

“After what?”

Mickey rubbed the bridge of his nose. “We gotta get going. It’s almost time to meet the guys at the gravesite.”

“Gravesite!”

“Let’s go. I’ll explain on the way.”

They returned to their seats and after buckling up, Ian flipped the left signal light on and shoulder checked for traffic. Then began to slowly pull away from the curb.

“What the hell are you doing?” Mickey asked in exasperation.

“Checking for traffic.”

“Chrissake, Ian, it’s a side street at night. There’s not a car in sight.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a little nervous with the guy in the trunk and all,” he explained.

“Can we just fucking go already?”                                                

In a huff, Ian started to yank the wheel and push his foot down on the pedal when a scruffy teen on an old BMX bike whizzed past them. Both men let out a startled scream at the unexpected sight.

Ian slammed on the break and Mickey braced against the dashboard. When he turned to look at Ian, an uncontrollable laugh formed in his chest and escaped before he could do anything about it. Ian turned to him and felt the laughter spread from Mickey to himself.

They laughed until tears formed. Mickey was holding his sides and Ian was slapping his hand on the steering wheel. After wiping his eyes, Mickey leaned against the headrest for a moment, then turned to Ian again. His best fucking friend. “C’mere, goofball.”

Ian knew those words and that voice, and his lips were on Mickey’s in a flash. They swapped some spit, but it didn’t feel like quite enough for Ian, so he stretched across the center console a little more and got his hand down the back of Mickey’s pants hoping to cop a feel of his sweet spot.

Mickey lifted his ass from the seat a little without thinking and wrapped his hand around Ian’s jacket collar pushing his tongue about halfway down Ian’s throat.

Then a car horn blasted out of nowhere and they pulled apart guiltily. The Pontiac had rolled into the street and narrowly missed a mini van. The frazzled mom and her teenage daughter gave them the finger as they slowly drove past.

 

By the time they’d reached the old logging road off the southern tip of Cook County Nature Preserve, Mickey had spilled the beans about Franny’s encounter with the asshole in the trunk of their car. She had gone to a frat party with some other underage friends and, after too many drinks, found herself drunkenly fighting off one of the college guys who had been bringing her drinks all night. She’d only gotten away because another couple had barged into the bedroom and refused to leave.

One thing about Franny, she had balls of steel, and she wasn’t gonna let this creep get away with fucking around with her, so she’d turned to the one other person she knew who had balls bigger than hers.

Mickey had kept his cool long enough to listen to Franny, then he’d contacted the necessary parties, driven to the frat house, tracked down the dude, threatened him with his best Glock, stuffed him in the trunk and picked Ian up from Macy’s.

Now they were pulling off the narrow gravel road into a small clearing. The sun had completely set but the full moon was providing sufficient light, so Ian cut the engine and turned to Mickey. “Okay, yes, this guy needs to pay, but murder?”

“Who said anything about murder, man?”

“I mean I kinda like the idea of him being dead and all, but it’s still murder. Like are we gonna shoot him in the head? Or were you thinking of burying him alive? Do we torture him first?”

“Holy shit, Gallagher!” Just then another set of headlights flashed across their windshield and Mickey opened his door as a white, windowless cargo van pulled to a stop near them. One of the side doors opened and Milkoviches started to pile out one by one, some brothers, some cousins. All muscle and attitude and slightly inebriated pushing and shoving.

Eventually, Mickey turned to Iggy who had come up to stand beside him. “Who’s that guy?” he asked lifting his chin toward a slightly scruffy, middle aged guy.

Iggy shrugged his shoulders and said, “Dunno. He looks kind a familiar though.” Mickey nodded thoughtfully. It was hard to keep track.

“Your timing was solid, Mick. We got some bodies to bury anyway,” Iggy commented, taking a bracing drink from his flask before passing it to Joey, who nodded his agreement.

“How many bodies?” Mickey asked.

“Two.”

“Three.”

Iggy looked at Joey in surprise, “Who am I forgettin’?”

Joey scratched his head then his crotch before replying, “Um, the guy in the car wash?”

Iggy laughed out loud slapping his thigh, “Oh, yeah.” He shook his head at his forgetfulness.

“You don’t know how many fucking bodies you need to get rid of?” Mickey asked, gawking at Iggy.

Iggy returned the look, indignant, “It’s been a busy day. I got a lot on my plate, ya know.”

Mickey said, “Jesus, it’s like there’s one Milkovich brain cell and you’re all sharing it.”

“You’re a Milkovich.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I was fucking adopted.”

Ian made his way to the group, which had formed a loose semi-circle. “So how we doin’ this?” he asked eagerly. Mickey looked at him like he’d grown a three-foot horn from the center of his head. This was a new side to Ian that Mickey wasn’t sure what to do with.

“We’re not _doin’_ anything but digging a grave,” Mickey replied.

“Then we’re gonna bury the motherfucker in it, right?” Ian was rubbing his hands together, whether from the cold or glee, Mickey wasn’t sure.

Ian stepped forward to grab one of the shovels Joey was handing out. “Where’s the dude who thinks he can fuck with one of ours?” Joey asked. “Did he get a beat down yet?”

“No,” Mickey began but was interrupted by Ian.

“He’s in the trunk. Come on,” Ian motioned happily for the group to follow him the trunk. Once he was surrounded by all the Milkovich brawn with shovels in hand, he lifted the trunk lid. Eight faces peered into the trunk and one face peered back at them.

“This is the douchebag?” Iggy snickered. “He’s ripe, Mick. How long’s he been in your nasty ass trunk?”

They all enjoyed a good chuckle, and Joey tossed a 12-gauge pump action shorty to Mickey, who caught it easily in his right hand then replied, “A few hours. Had shit to do. Like pick up the old lady from Macy’s.” He brought the gun up to his face and wrapped his _fuck_ fingers around the double barrels, sliding them slowly from the muzzle to the magazine. Then he gripped the pump firmly, pulling it back with a loud _chu-chung_ chambering a fresh cartridge. He knew this shit would get Ian hard.

Sliding his eyes toward his husband, sure enough, Ian’s mouth which had opened to bitch out Mickey snapped shut and his eyes bore laser like holes into Mickey’s hands. Mickey smirked a little as he dropped the double barrels level with the fear stricken face in the trunk.

“Wakey, wakey,” he said tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. Then he reached in and torn the duct tape off the guy’s mouth in one smooth pull. “We wanna hear you scream like the little bitch you are,” he explained while the guy whimpered in pain.

“Woah,” Colin said casually. “Forensics, little brother, there’s gonna be fibres and shit in your trunk if you whack him. Better off doin’ it out here.”

So Mickey and Iggy reached into the trunk and hauled him out. Mickey sliced the tie around his wrists and ankles with his multi-tool, and the guy stumbled forward landing on his knees. “Get up,” Mickey stood directly over him. The guy struggled to his feet, falling once more in the process, but eventually finding his footing.

“I wanna show you somethin’.” Nudging the guy forward with the tip of the shotgun, Mickey grabbed the shovel out of Colin’s hand before stopping a few feet from the group and jamming the shovel into the ground. “Do you know what this is?” No response. “Well?”

“No,” the guy said and tears started to leak from his eyes.

“Are you sure? Cause I think you do,” Mickey replied in a soothing, thoughtful voice.

The guy shook his head again.

“What’d I tell you before? About fucking lying to me.”

“M-my g-g-grave?”

“That’s right. And the last thing you’re gonna see is us digging it.” The guy was full on crying now and Mickey gently guided him toward the shovel. “But the first thing you’re gonna do is start digging.”

The sound of metal hitting packed earth filled the night air and echoed into the trees. Tears were dripping off the guy’s chin and he sucked in gulps of air as he tried to gain control of himself. All around him, Milkovich men were passing flasks and joints and ribbing each other over who has dug the best grave.

Eventually, everyone started digging. Men, shovels, dirt flying, it didn’t take long for eight guys to dig a sloppy grave even with enough alcohol and marijuana flowing to fell weaker men.

Taking a deep inhale, Joey asked no one in particular, “Did you hear the one about the blind man, the deaf man and the mute being murdered and thrown into an unmarked grave?”

“Holy shit!” Ian suddenly called out. He bent forward and yanked what appeared to be a femur from the dirt. Mickey stepped toward him and grabbed the leg bone, swinging it toward his brothers and narrowly missing their captive, who was kneeling at the edge of the hole. “Did you assholes already use this site for a body dump? No, lemme guess, you got a lot on your fuckin’ plate,” he ranted punctuating each word with a stab of the bone.

Iggy just shrugged, “Ya want I should check my fuckin’ records?”

“I hope you didn’t file it under _Stupid Shit I’ve Done_ cause that fuckin’ file is overflowing.”

Mickey threw the bone back into the freshly turned earth then grabbed Iggy’s pack of smokes from his lumberman jacket pocket. As he tapped one out, his eyes cut to Ian daring him to bring up quitting. He was gonna smoke this cigarette whether Ian liked or not. So there!

Ian snatched the lighter from Mickey’s hand and lit the smoke for him, watching Mickey suck on it like he wished he could be next. And once again, Mickey was left half intrigued and half concerned about Ian’s apparent foray over to the dark side. One fucking grave digging and the guy was John Wayne Gacy.

“Damn, Gallagher,” he said around his lit cigarette. Someone was getting laid tonight.

A flash of headlights cut across the group, and all eyes turned to the older model red Mustang that pulled into the clearing. The engine cut out, three doors opened and Mandy, Franny and Svetlana climbed out.

“Why is Svet here?” Mickey asked his sister as she approached with her arm around Franny’s shoulders.

“She was at the salon getting her nails done when you texted me,” Mandy explained. “She said it’d been forever since she’d had a chance to stab a man in the heart with her screwdriver. Who am I to stand in the way of her happiness?”

Svet stopped a few paces from Mickey. They stared at each other in silent acceptance of the truce they had established years prior. “Hello, ex-husband,” she said, then shifted her eyes to Ian. “Hello, trophy wife.”

Ian stepped forward and kissed her cheek. “Hello, bitter ex-wife.”

Svet ran her finger lightly over Ian’s cheek, then narrowed her eyes at him. “Our boy needs new cleats.”

“Already taken care of. In the back seat of the car in fact.”

“He is lucky boy, my Yevvy,” she nodded. “Now where is piece of shit?”

Ian escorted Svet to the piece of shit who was now standing in his grave, shaking and shivering. Mandy and Fanny joined her so that he was surrounded by a formidable wall of Milkoviches and Gallaghers.

“Well, Fran, what’s it gonna be?” Mickey asked with a lift of his eyebrows.

Franny’s eyes moved around the circle of onlookers then landed on the guy cowering in the grave. She lowered herself to a squat to get a better look at him. “Not so sure of yourself tonight, are you?”

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “So sorry.”

“He says he’s sorry, guys,” Franny repeated to the group but maintained her eye contact. “Do we believe him?” She turned to Svet, “What do you think?”

Svet moved to squat beside Franny. “Maybe rain or maybe snow, maybe yes or maybe no.” She pulled a shiny star-head screwdriver from her jacket pocket. “When cat not home, mouse feel free, no?”

“Good point,” Franny nodded slowly considering Svet’s words. “If, and I do mean if, we let you go, how do we know you won’t forget what happened here today and return to your evil ways?”

“I-I promise,” he shuddered and bowed his head.

Franny turned next to Mandy, “Would you let him live?”

“If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times. Men are assholes.” She pursed her lips and added, “It wouldn’t be my first hit ‘n run.”

“Or your last,” Mickey added drily. Mandy winked at the terrified man in the grave. “It’s not looking promising for you, is it?”

The guy took a couple steps backward trying to get away from Mickey and Mandy, but he quickly backed into the edge of the grave. When he turned to look over his shoulder, he was face to face with one of the bodies the Milkovich boys needed to dispose of. A strangled scream filled the night air.

“Please, don’t do this! I’m sorry. I will never hurt anyone again,” he begged. His eyes moving from one disinterested face to another.

Svet, Mandy and Franny stared down at the guy while his fate hung in the air. “Let’s get outta here,” Franny finally said. “We definitely got better things to do than this.” She stopped in front of Mickey for a moment; they shared a look before the women returned to Mandy’s mustang and peeled out of the clearing. Nine sets of eyes watching their departure.

“So what’re we gonna do with this guy?” Iggy asked perplexed. “Don’t recall ever lettin’ anyone live before.”

“You got any rohypnol?” Mickey asked, hauling the guy out of the grave. “We could show him a good time.”

“Nah, we had to use it all up at another quinceañera,” Iggy replied shaking his head. “Those punks never learn that you can’t take advantage of chicks. Ain’t cool.”

“Yeah,” Colin added. “I’m getting fucking tired of spiking guys drinks. Don’t these shitheads got parents to teach them right and wrong?”

A collective Milkovich head shake at the state of the world today.

“Gotta take some guns down to the projects. We’ll take him with us. He’ll be like an accessory to the crime,” Iggy threw his arm around the guy. “Ain’t that right?”

“Yeah, maybe, some a his fibres and shit will get on the bodies we got,” Colin added. “As a little reminder to mind his fucking manners.”

“Now we need a new location for the bodies cause we can’t trust to him to keep his mouth shut,” Joey complained. “I’m really startin’ to hate this guy. Fuckin’ ethics, man.”

With that, six Milkoviches, one reformed rapist and three dead bodies sped out of the clearing, leaving one Milkovich and one Gallagher on clean up duty.

 

 

Ian wiped his hands on an old piece of cloth he found in the trunk of the car. He was leaning against the rear quarter panel watching Mickey move around the shallow grave. Sweaty, dirty, scowling and sucking on another cigarette. As he placed the smoke between his lips and bent down to pick up one of the shovels left behind, his hair flopped forward a little.

He needs a haircut, thought Ian. He’d make him an appointment later.

Ian was hit in that moment with the extremes to which Mickey would go to defend and protect the people he loves beginning with Ian, himself: he’d willingly sacrifice himself. The fact that Ian had spent the last years of his life living within the protective Mickey bubble fully hit him in that moment, and he understood why Franny had called Mickey when she was in trouble.

Yanking open the driver’s side door, Ian reached inside and opened the center console. One lube packet was tucked under some old napkins. He grabbed it and turned back to his prey. His eyes narrowed a little as they stalked Mickey, his nostrils flared as he imagined smelling him. He had better be ready, Ian thought, for what was about to hit him.

Mickey wasn’t aware of the total metamorphosis that Ian had just undergone, so when the redhead leapt into the grave and grabbed the cigarette out of his hand only to throw it over his shoulder, Mickey scrunched up his face in protest. But before he could actually protest, Ian wrapped an arm around his waist, and his other hand attached to the back of Mickey’s head.

The force of the kiss bent Mickey backwards as their lips pressed together harshly.

While Ian mauled his mouth, the hand that was holding his head slipped down to grab one firm thigh and bring it up around his hip. He ran his fingers up the thigh until he reached Mickey’s ass, but the jeans weren’t giving him the access he wanted. He could feel Mickey hardening and growled a little into his mouth. Every drive in his body was demanding attention.

So he released his hold around Mickey’s back and brought his hand to Mickey’s other thigh, and without warning, pulled it up around his hip too, forcing Mickey to wrap his arms around Ian’s neck or topple backwards. The impact of the maneuver caused Ian to take a step forward and Mickey’s ass collided with the edge of the grave. They groaned as they pressed into each other.

Ian could hear Mickey panting in his ear and it was making him fucking crazy. “Turn around. I need to be inside you.”

After one more needy, messy, sloppy kiss, Ian released his grip on Mickey’s thighs and pried him off. Not needing to be told a second time, Mickey turned around, popped the button on his jeans and lowered them. Then braced one hand on the loose dirt in front of him.

Ian had the packet open and his hand on his dick, watching Mickey bend over slightly in preparation and start rubbing himself. With two slicked up fingers massaging Mickey, Ian reached around to cover Mickey’s hand with his own. Instead of allowing Mickey to set the pace, he squeezed his hand and moved it in the opposite direction, taking control.

While he distracted Mickey with his hand, he inserted two fingers slowly and both of their hands paused at the sensation. With a deep moan, Ian did his best in the moment to prepare Mickey but he really, really needed to be inside him. Which he proceeded to describe for Mickey in graphic detail.

When Ian felt Mickey pushing back onto his fingers, he almost shouted for joy. Then decided there’s no reason to hold back, so he let out a whoop of joy while lining himself up.

Once he was inside and starting to move, Ian really couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Between kisses to Mickey’s back, he described every sensation he was having and how good Mickey felt and how close he was. He praised Mickey for taking such good care of him and their families, for being willing to do anything to protect them.

This pretty much pushed Mickey over the edge and that pretty much pushed Ian over and they were done. Ian was draped over Mickey’s back, and Mickey was holding them up by digging his fists into the dirt on the side of the grave.

After a couple of moments, Ian pulled out and grabbed his pants from around his ankles. He couldn’t help but chuckle. “We just had sex in a grave. Didn’t see that coming.”

Mickey was doing the same with his back to Ian and his head bowed. Ian’s senses were on alert now.

“Mickey?”

Suddenly, Mickey whipped around and wrapped his arms around Ian’s chest pressing his face into his collarbone.

“What’s up?” Ian tried to pry the other man off his chest. “Mickey?”

“I—you—,” he mumbled into Ian’s chest.

“Oh, baby, are you having feelings?”

Mickey nodded into his chest.

Who knew, Ian thought, that he would fall a little bit more in love with his husband while standing in a shallow grave off the side of an old logging road on a cool, fall evening 13 years after he first started to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy to take you up on a cute challenge if you have one. :)


End file.
